


Once

by Soraya (soraya2004), soraya2004



Series: Fortunate Son [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-13
Updated: 2005-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-14 19:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/152740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/Soraya, https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraya2004/pseuds/soraya2004





	Once

He never used to be a man of routine. Once, there was a time when he embodied the vagaries of genius, and every facet of his mind thrived on the unpredictable. At least, that's what he believes. Now, for him, routine is so much more than a slice of the mundane. There's an element of pure reassurance to it. Something about repeating the same actions and walking the same path day after day helps ground him in a world that feels as strange to him as his very existence in it.

So, every evening, after the last call for dinner and noise in the mess hall is dying down, he comes to the lowest platform on the Southeast pier. Apart from the lab, this is his favourite place in the city. There are no constraints here, and he's close enough to the ocean to feel its cool spray against his face and to smell its salt-sweet scent on the wind.

Sighing, he closes his eyes and he tips his face toward the sky, taking several deep breaths. The days on Atlantis seem longer than they are on Earth. It seems no matter how late he leaves it before coming here, there's always enough time to enjoy the warmth of the evening sun on his skin. The memories of home are distant, as though they belong to someone else, and he can't help but wonder if he only remembers Earth because Elizabeth took such great pains to brief him.

Other things are sharp and clear: the type of food he loves, his grasp of astrophysics and the elemental nature of the universe. Yet, the core of who he is and why he does what he does remain a mystery to him. The irony of that isn't lost on him, and it's something else to reflect on as he listens to the splash of ocean waves breaking against the city's walls. He tries to remember what he was like before he had to stamp an artificial routine on his life just to feel normal. He knows there were moments of fear and exhilaration, but like his memories of Earth, true understanding is elusive, and every time he reaches for it, it dances just beyond his grasp.

He thinks that should frustrate him. His instincts tell him that, at one time, the mere state of 'not knowing' would have compelled him to research and hypothesise until theory became fact and there were answers instead of questions. Perhaps the old him was simply more driven, more passionate; but he's not that person any more.

Nonetheless, he does try, for them. Every day, he works very hard to be the person he once was. He does it for the people who say they knew him from before, because they seem to need their routines even more than he needs his own. None of them are ready to let him go; not Carson, who wants his best friend and chess partner back; nor Elizabeth, who needs her lead scientist to keep Atlantis running smoothly; nor John, who just seems to need him. Most days, he feels like he's playing a part, where there's no script or understudy and he has stepped into the role without rehearsal. He's very good at it, because he's good at every thing he does. But, every once in a while, he gets it wrong, and he'll say or do *something* that screams he is not the man he once was. He can see it in the way sometimes John flinches around him or the way John stares too long at him with a strangely sad expression.

And that, more than any need for reassurance is what drives him here every night, far away from the stares and too-bright smiles. On the pier, he can breathe freely, without the weight of a thousand regrets pressing into his chest. This level of sensitivity is alien to him; of that much he's certain; because, it can't be normal to know the things he does. He feels too many things now, though most of all, he feels the steady pulse of Atlantis all around.

Once so lonely, so very alone for thousands of years . . . the sheer complexity of her mind astonishes him. They haven't even come close to understanding the extent of what she is, barely scratching the surface of her capabilities. She truly had been dead, much like he was, with her extremities going through the motions as they'd walked through her, nothing but the ingrained responses of a severed limb that has yet to realise it's unattached. And like him, she's alive again, breathing slow and steady, so very happy not to be alone.

As the sun drops low on the horizon, he moves to the platform's edge, staring out across the ocean while the light begins to fade into purples and oranges. There isn't much time before the next phase in his routine. So, he tries again to remember what his life was like before he died, before John couldn't save him and he'd been left to drown. Death he can do without remembering, but there's a point after that - when nothingness burst into light and sound and pain as Atlantis pushed consciousness back into him - which leaves him questioning what it means to be alive.

The city's life force flows through him now. They're connected in a way he doesn't quite understand. That will come in time; he knows this with unflinching certainty, because each day, it gets a little easier to sense her and the people inside her. The others are little more than faint specks of light on his radar, and he can barely tell they exist . . . except for John.

John is pure Ancient energy: sharp and golden and electrifying in his beauty. Sometimes, just being near him is blinding. His aura swirls with a mass of conflicting emotions, and whenever he comes too close, he sees his own face at their centre. He's not sure what they are to each other. Their interactions during the day are characterised by awkward glances followed by angry words. At night, however, when he closes his eyes, his dreams are full of a different John, one who writhes beneath him and comes crying his name as he slides deep inside his body. He thinks that might have been real; when he closes his eyes, he can almost feel the hands clutching at his back and taste the sweat on John's skin; but, as with everything else in this new life, he can't be sure.

She tries to help him remember, because she wants him to be happy. She *likes* him; she adores the fact that he's clever enough to keep up with her! She has so many wonders to show him, and they can spend days together exploring each other's minds. He thinks that's what frightens John the most . . . the way he'll slip off to a universe where none of them can reach him. And, every time he comes back, John is always with him, waiting, eyes red, hands trembling.

He doesn't know how to make them understand. How does he explain that death hasn't taken anything from him; it has simply opened him up and *made* him more. There's a galaxy full of wonders as vast and terrible as the ocean he can see stretched out before him, and it's all within his reach.

Sometimes, he wonders if that will be enough to make up for the little things.

The hour speeds by, and suddenly the pier lights come on. John is only minutes away now. He doesn't remember telling Atlantis to monitor John's movements. Perhaps he never needed to; she knows all his wants and desires, and he never has to explain himself to her.

Carefully, he sits down, letting his feet hang over the ledge. This, too, is part of the routine. He'll sit here and wait, until the doors open and John comes out onto the ledge to join him. Then, he'll use biting wit and sarcasm to reassure John that he's still the same old Rodney McKay.

And when John sits at his side and nudges him with his shoulder, Rodney knows they'll both try very hard to pretend he's the man he once was.

  
The End.


End file.
